


Coach Swinton

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [16]
Category: Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26826961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: Morning tea accompanied by swimmers, Sir, and a stately lady
Series: The Manse [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447
Kudos: 1





	Coach Swinton

From the kitchen, where I stand before the altar of the boiling teakettle, I can see the sun beginning to peek over the trees surrounding the pool. I pull my fluffy green bathrobe closer. 

I rub my eyes and pour the water over the Yorkshire teabag in my mug and set the timer for three minutes. I sigh heavily and smile at the fact that I “slept in” for the first time in ages. All thanks to my husband. For months, it’s been hard to muster up the wherewithal to leave bed every morning, for all the 2020 reasons, but lately, remaining under the covers has been for all the Sir Ken reasons. 

The timer rings and as soon as I fish out the teabag, I notice the sun twinkling on a splash of water in the pool. I hear voices, laughter, more splashes. I tighten the belt of my robe and carry my tea mug out the sliding glass doors. October’s mild chill greets me, and the patio stone cools my toes with every step toward the lounge area. As I make it past the desne, tall hibiscus bushes and turn the corner, she is the first vision I see. 

There, recumbent on one of the chaise chairs under an umbrella, is Tilda, watching the activity of the two swimmers before her. The early sun is too weak to be responsible for all the light emanating from her resplendent white robes. She has a notepad in her lap and a steaming mug of tea by her side, and she daintily sips as her eyes never tear away from the action. I am so happy to see her that I shuffle over as quickly as possible, barely registering the fact that both Johnny Weir and Alan Cumming are rehearsing some topless synchronized routine--noseplugs and black speedos and all.

“Lovely, lovely, now, Alan, you need to leap a bit higher to match Johnny. Right, like that, excellent.” She notices me only as I set down my tea beside hers. She gives me a side smile and a little bow of her head as I join her, then returns her attention to the water dancers. “Boys, tighten that spin now… right, right, good.”

I watch Alan and Johnny clasp hands and wave their arms and do tumbles nonstop as Tilda directs them. “I had no idea you were a swimming coach,” I say.

Tilda reaches for her tea. “Oh, I know bugger-all, really, we’re just having a lark.”

I laugh gently into my tea before I take another hot sip, the steam fogging my vision. “Up before the sun is hardly a lark. You’re serious.”

“Johnny, Johnny, watch Alan’s legs now, he’s too close… Good, better.” She scribbles in the book and turns to me. “You’re up later than usual, though. Ken still sleeping?”

“No, no, he was up… very early… we were… up early together.”

Tilda’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Oh... that answers my question, then.”

“Which?”

“Why on earth you married that upstart anyway,” she says with a wink.

I shrug. “Mostly because he helps me with my Shakespeare homework.”

“Pardon?”

My head swivels to see Sir walking up to us, fully dressed in nice fitted jeans and a white checked button-down covered by that blue cashmere jumper I love. He’s holding a mug of tea and staring at me disapprovingly. “Is it true?” he asks, his voice wounded. “You only married me for my brains?”

I grimace and steal a glance at Tilda, who frowns at me before she waves her hand dismissively at him. “Oh Ken, what good are you for if not Shakespeare tutoring? Get over yourself.” She stares at Johnny and Alan, who are upside down, their legs kicking frantically in the air above the surface of the water. “You’re no athlete like these two fine specimens.”

“Alan’s no athlete!” my scandalized husband says, pointing accusingly. “He’s just an overly excitable Scotsman!”

“He works out all the time, though,” Tilda says. “Don’t you wonder why your wife keeps him around?”

I put my tea down and get up, then reach to take Ken’s mug from him. He hesitates, still frowning, but I take it and set it down so I can grab both of his hands and pull his arms around me and stare up at him with all the sincerity I have in my being. I reach up and hold his face between my hands and force him to look me in the eyes. 

“Kenneth, listen to me,” I whisper, feeling his bodily warmth begin to seep through my robe’s fabric like freshly spilled coffee. “It’s not all about intellect. As much as I’d like to pretend my attractions are supremely personality and cerebral pursuits, as I am wont to do, I can’t deny the inexplicable root chakra cravings within me.”

“Inexplicable?” he hisses, “I know I am prone to vanity, but I always felt I rather objectively cut a nice figure for an older gentleman.”

“You’re not wrong, my Sir. I believe that the elder you wax, the better you appear.”

He closes his eyes and finally allows a smile to lift his cheeks. I feel his arms tighten around me, lifting me to my bare tiptoes so I can reach him for a kiss. He narrows his gaze at me lustily for a second and says “Thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better.”

In that moment, of course, he may not recognize it, but it’s because he can’t help falling back on Bardolatry that he will wax better through the years. Old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon his aura, even if it does to his countenance, as it does to all of us. 

Before I consciously realize it, mid-kiss, I clasp my fingers behind his neck and impulsively hop up, locking my legs around his hips. Luckily, his instincts and wits are about him in the moment and he catches me without losing his balance. Everything else falls away for a moment until…

“Get off it, K Bran!” Alan yelps as a splash of water hits us from the side, causing us both to instantly suck in a cold gasp. We gape at Alan, open-mouthed and dumbfounded. He crosses his arms over his chest and grunts. “Serves you two right for not getting a room!”

Johnny laughs from beside him, slicking his soaking hair out of his face. “You’re free to live your love lives but you don’t have to rub your hetero ways in our faces, you know!” he says, high-fiving Alan as they both giggle uncontrollably.

Tilda covers her mouth even as an angelic little laugh bubbles out of her. She sighs and shakes her head, smiling at us. “Perhaps you didn’t  _ sleep in _ long enough, you two.”

Ken and I lock eyes again and the second I notice a frisky twinkle in his gaze, he props me up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and proceeds to about-face. “We’ll have a tea later, Tilly!” he says, “Keep the boys busy for us!”

Alan and Johnny whistle provocatively as we make our dramatic exit toward the house. 

“You have some cheek!” I say, rather shocked at this boyish display, but also unwittingly turned on all the same. As I contemplate the view I have of his rump, I wonder to myself if I am also invited to tea with Tilly later. 


End file.
